


Ex Nihilo

by jusrecht



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten reasons (and three more) why they are not perfect for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ex Nihilo

 

 

_ten reasons why they are not perfect for each other_

**1\. one hell of a past**

  
It’s the sight of him lagging behind alone that puts the words in Siwon’s mouth.  
  
“We could’ve been nicer.” So quietly whispered, they nevertheless sail the distance, reaching the periphery of their small, disgruntled group. Everyone hears them; everyone but the boy who lags behind.  
  
Donghae raises his head first because he has been reciting the same line, singing the same song for weeks, never quite deterred by the cold silence which always greets the end of his little speech. Among them, he is one of the smallest, but his heart may as well be the biggest, for it takes a special kind of bravery to conquer that numbing fear which too often gags honesty.  
  
Their eyes meet, and Siwon cannot help but feel a little braver, the mantle of fellowship squaring his shoulders.  
  
“Right,” someone mutters, and it can be Kangin, or Heechul, or somebody else among the other ten. It doesn’t matter, because there is no mistaking the meaning—or the barb behind it.  
  
“He deserves a chance,” Siwon digs up another sliver of argument, determined to continue. Righteousness makes him bolder, braver somehow.  
  
But it promptly falls dead before the many angry glances shot to his direction.  
  
“It’s easy for _you_ to say,” Hyukjae speaks—or spits, judging from the viciousness of his voice. “You’re practically untouchable. But the rest of us aren’t so lucky.”  
  
Siwon stiffens. It’s an old wound, but memory writes with ink thicker than blood. (And hurt only hides, not disappears.)  
  
“That’s not true,” he manages to say, although the last thing he needs right now is to be different. Again.  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Something very much like shame makes him close his mouth and swallow the sour taste at the back of his throat. He tries so very hard not to think of twelve different interpretations of cowardice, or whether it’s truly right to fight for what is _right_. Because the thing about coming from a family drenched in money—not to mention being born with a face that can buy him a smile and a truckload of favouritism almost at every turn—is that it builds a thorny fence of self-consciousness around oneself; and no, he hasn’t escaped from that prison yet.  
  
The other nine never utter a word, but their silence is enough to lock the rest of his arguments inside.  
  
Siwon doesn’t look back. He is different enough as he is.  
  
(And the boy will have to prove himself anyway, if he wants to survive.)

 

 

 

–

 

**2\. one hell of a fight**

  
Months and months after the accident, Kyuhyun realises that even heaven-sent gratitude wears off.  
  
Sure, they love him—if such a mangled, distorted sentiment, born out of guilt's womb, conceived on a bed of tragedy, can be called ‘love’. The fact remains that there will always be a little too much _pain_ in it, in their smiles when they look at him, because in their eyes he is and always will be a punishment (of their littleness, their selfishness, their small-mindedness.) He is the rudest wake-up call ever, the slap on the face to remind them all that hate, of course, can kill.  
  
It’s the reason why Leeteuk almost always gives in to his every little request. It’s the reason why Heechul stops mid-sentence when the gale of his rising temper tries to shift to _his_ direction. It’s also the reason why Yesung only smiles in that muted, inscrutable way of his when their _maknae_ cracks a joke about being the best singer in the group.  
  
So when honesty finally breaks free from its chaining guilt and punches him in the face, Kyuhyun thinks that he deserves better.  
  
The problem is, even under the thick thundering clouds of his fury, Kyuhyun isn't blind enough to think himself blameless. It's easy to see that his attitude has been getting on their nerves for weeks. Even Donghae has _scowled_ at him on several occasions, and that is really saying something.  
  
But he didn’t cease. He pushed, pushed, and pushed, led by something uglier than just a desire to tease, until one of them snapped—and then he stormed out of the practice room after screaming at every single one of them.  
  
Well, at least he left before the quarrel could explode into an actual fistfight.  
  
It shouldn't matter, Kyuhyun repeats to himself as he paces back and forth on the rooftop of their office building. An argument is nothing new in the group, no matter how fucking sunshine-and-roses pretty they look from the outside. With thirteen different members of varying temperaments, it’s difficult not to have a fight at least once every three days.  
  
Except this one really _hurts_.  
  
Maybe because only truth can cut so deeply, with its diamond-sharp point and brutal indifference. Whatever it is, Kyuhyun isn't ready to admit it, or to give up the chance of venting his rage at a willing target. Which is why when Siwon finds him there, filled with so much good intention that it chokes the very air about him, Kyuhyun spins around and hisses, “Don't.”  
  
Siwon looks surprised—and slightly hurt, although he tries his best to smooth it away into an expression of grave concern. All very good and decent. Playing the nice guy is, after all, his specialty.  
  
And Kyuhyun hates him for it.  
  
“Don't what?” Siwon asks tentatively.  
  
Kyuhyun has to wonder if he is stupid or playing stupid. Probably both.  
  
“Don’t pretend that you care,” he growls, feeling the drag of each word in his throat. “Or that you even like me.”  
  
“I do care about you,” Siwon answers, a touch too defensive. It prompts a derisive snort from the younger man.  
  
“Right. Because after all, I could have _died_.”  
  
“Stop saying that.” The first hint of anger seeps into Siwon's voice, a jarring presence. Kyuhyun can literally _feel_ how it carves a feral smirk into his face.  
  
“Face it. You couldn’t even look at me before that night. I didn't even _exist_. The idea that you, or anyone else for that matter, ‘cared’ was not only laughable but also fucking insulting.” He pauses, revelling in this white-hot rage that burns so brightly in him it eclipses everything else. “Well,” Kyuhyun realises that he is shaking, and so is his voice, but he has never held a sharper knife, “thank _God_ for the accident.”  
  
And it goes in so easily, so beautifully, so perfectly he almost grins. Or weeps. Or both.  
  
There is no mistaking its effect on Siwon. The carefully sculpted wall of patience cracks, splits, falls away to litter the concrete floor between them, and when he finally speaks, Kyuhyun has never heard a voice so cold with fury it literally chills him to the bone.  
  
“You’re a pathetic little shit.”  
  
Kyuhyun stares at him, torn between enraged and dumbfounded. “What?”  
  
“Try not wearing the victim’s shirt so much and maybe you’ll see that your life doesn't resolve around the damn accident.”  
  
And that, of course, is the second punch of the day.  
  
Kyuhyun spends the rest of the evening seething inside, only deigning to plaster a smile onto his face when the camera is rolling. It takes him the entire sleepless night and a better part of the next day to finally admit that those two punches might not be entirely without justice. He _has_ been acting like a little shit, playing the rude-spoiled-unmanageable-maknae card too often to get his way and generally frustrating every other member of the group.  
  
Yes, he is in the wrong.  
  
So maybe if the rest of the week—and the next too—sees him trying to toe the line more and complain less while also being incredibly aloof and indifferent about it, well, maybe that’s only his style of asking for forgiveness. Heechul will roll his eyes. Hyukjae will curse _his_ inability to say sorry. Sungmin will strum a tune on his guitar that reminds Kyuhyun of one of the songs in his favourite game, and then pretends that he doesn't know. Ryeowook will cook him something for no apparent reason and Leeteuk will only smile that helpless, knowing smile which says that being their leader is a fucking full-time job and sometimes he wants to kill them all for making his life so miserably difficult but won’t because apparently he loves them all too much. (And yes, it’s love, from whatever distorted, jaundiced, fucked-up angle Kyuhyun tries to scrutinise it.)  
  
Siwon—well, Siwon will probably try to offer him a small, hesitant smile despite everything said and done between them, because he is simply a nice guy like that.  
  
And Kyuhyun will look away, mostly because there are words one cannot unsay, no matter what one does, and guilt is just strange like that.

 

 

 

–

 

**3\. one hell of a kiss**

  
When Kyuhyun’s fist lands on his face, Siwon thinks that he really shouldn’t have expected any less.  
  
There is a moment of blankness filled only by horrified gasps from other members of the group, and then Kyuhyun is screaming at him. “You son of a bitch! You had no right! Do you think everyone wants to kiss you only because you’re so goddamn good-looking!?”  
  
He doesn’t end up on the floor, but the force of the punch is enough to make him clutch the edge of a table to support his weight. Siwon tries to remember the last time he has been hit this hard by anyone, the ringing in his ears shrill but not unfamiliar, and comes up with a blank wall. When he looks up, black spots still splattered across his vision, he sees Donghae and Shindong trying to hold their youngest back from pummelling his face into a bloody pulp.  
  
Kyuhyun in rage is striking, and more beautiful than he has any right to be.  
  
Siwon clenches his eyes shut to derail that train of thought. His ears still burn—that mouth hasn’t stopped hurling obscenities at him—and he can feel his fingers slowly clenching into a pair of angry fists. Adrenaline is still running high in his veins, residue from their performance barely three minutes ago. If he lets go of even the smallest shred of his self-control, he might just return the blow in full payment.  
  
“Fuck you, Choi Siwon! Fuck you and your need to be a whore every single fucking second!”  
  
That, finally, snaps his eyes open. “It was bloody fanservice,” Siwon hears himself say in a low, dangerous voice. “Be professional for once and get over it.”  
  
He turns around and leaves the room, brushing away Leeteuk’s worried hand. It’s an exit as much as an escape, because there is absolutely no reason he can give if the fight continues—at least none that doesn’t revolve around the frenzied high that was tonight’s stage, or his inability to think straight before the sight of Kyuhyun in such careless peak of rapture, looking so bright, so breathtakingly beautiful with that brazen, cocky smile and his pale skin flushed under a glimmer of sweat.  
  
And then came that moment, that half of a second when he licked his lips, a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue, and the way he did it was so _obscene_ that Siwon had no choice but to kiss him.  
  
Predictably enough, this long run of justifications fails to sound like anything more than the most pathetic attempt at fabricating excuses to his ears. And it doesn’t soothe the sting on his face one bit.

 

 

 

–

 

**4\. one hell of a first time**

  
“I don’t believe you.”  
  
Siwon is standing with his back against the bathroom door, a look of pure shock in his face. Had this situation been any less humiliating, Kyuhyun would have doubled over in uncontrollable hysterics until tears were streaming down his face. The look on Siwon's face is absolutely priceless.  
  
As it is, laughter is the farthest thing from his mind. The five-step distance between them does absolutely nothing to cover the obvious, and he is forced to bear the shame as he stands white-knuckled in front of the sink with a visible hard-on in his too tight pants.  
  
And they are due back on stage in ten minutes  
  
“Get out,” he finally says, the words coming out hoarse and brittle past his dry throat. There is tightness which threatens to shatter coiling in the bottom of his stomach, the kind of tightness born out of panic and mortification and being so _unbearably_ turned on he feels like screaming and clawing his eyes out from the sheer pressure. He knows he will be dreaming of that shocked, scandalised stare for many, many nights, but right now, there is nothing more important than that agonising tightness, fast eclipsing everything else in his system.  
  
He cannot even remember why he is hard anymore.  
  
Siwon’s jaw clenches. He crosses the gap between them in three long strides and grabs Kyuhyun’s wrist, pulling him into a narrow cubicle. Kyuhyun makes a small enraged sound that only provokes a hissed _‘shut up’_ from the other man and a hard push against one of the too-thin walls, startling him into silence for a sharp, breathless second.  
  
“What are you doing?” he demands when he recovers his wits—along with the full extent of his resentment—wrenching his arm away from Siwon’s powerful grip. Their last fight still prickles under his skin, a rotting wound which plainly refuses to heal. Suddenly all he can think of is how Siwon’s lips felt on his during that thoroughly unwelcome kiss.  
  
“Shut up,” Siwon repeats, obviously irritated. Kyuhyun is about to resort to the language of fists again when he finds a hand clamped over his mouth. “Shut up or I won’t help with this.”  
  
The other hand slides down the length of his erection and _squeezes_ —and Kyuhyun is suddenly, tremendously glad for the one over his mouth. The surprised moan viciously ripped from his throat is so loud that without Siwon’s precaution, everyone milling in the corridor outside would have been able to hear him. The force of it leaves him weak, trembling from head to toe, arousal spiking so high he nearly begs. He cannot even call it pleasure, something so wild and violent, almost _painful_.  
  
And he's desperate for more.  
  
When Siwon’s fingers finally curl around his cock, he knows the last bit of his restraints has just reduced itself to ashes. Moaning in abandon, he begins to fuck Siwon’s hand even before the third stroke, back arched and fingers digging into broad shoulders. He is vaguely aware of Siwon muttering something in front of his ear, voice too deep and just a shade too controlled, as if he is teetering at the brink of sanity himself. Kyuhyun can only blink in return; none makes the slightest bit of sense in his lust-addled brain—nothing except the heavy throb between his legs.  
  
“More,” he tries to speak, but only manages to bring his tongue into contact with Siwon’s palm. The fingers stroking him falter and there is a sound very much like a whimper coming from the older man, which Kyuhyun just has to _smirk_ at. He repeats the action, once, twice, never looking away from the dark eyes which seem to be devouring him whole.  
  
Siwon swallows, scowling at him, and Kyuhyun thinks he can come from the sear of that small victory alone. Any lingering anger or mortification from earlier only sweetens the triumph and fuels the furious roar of arousal in his veins.  
  
But then the hand on his cock moves faster and Kyuhyun lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes clenched shut, more obscene sounds spilling from his lips. Prowling the edge of his awareness is the threat of a ticking clock (seven more minutes, someone is bound to be looking for them soon), of discovery, of someone walking in and finding them like this, of the taboo and the pure, heady rush of danger in the face of it all. And it tears into the thin sheet of his sanity, making Kyuhyun arch his back and gasp openly against Siwon’s fingers. He needs to come so badly.  
  
“Back pocket,” Siwon suddenly speaks again, his voice a dark, rough whisper that has him trembling with need, his hips moving even faster. “I have a handkerchief. You don’t want to come all over the stage clothes.”  
  
Kyuhyun almost laughs; because this is Choi Siwon, the perfect gentleman, being so perfectly old-fashioned like having a fucking _handkerchief_ in his possession—and yet his hand is fervently, almost religiously, stroking Kyuhyun’s cock, his intent as urgent as his rhythm. Kyuhyun obeys nonetheless, humouring that last, desperate plea of reason. Siwon’s left hand eases its hold over his mouth and takes the piece of soft cloth from Kyuhyun’s quivering fingers, holding it steady over the head of his cock.  
  
Then he says, “Kyuhyun,” and it sounds like a command, or a permission, or a fucking arrogant request to _please come all over my hand_ , which of course Kyuhyun fulfils with a grateful moan. His fingers cling to Siwon’s arms and his nose is filled with the smell of Siwon’s cologne, his ears with the rasp of Siwon’s breath, his skin with the sheer heat of Siwon’s presence as Siwon’s hand continue to wrung the climax out of him, and he is so _full_ of Siwon that he has to bite into his knuckles lest his mouth also screams Siwon’s name.  
  
The only obvious scenario left unexplored now is to have Siwon fuck him properly—and this time Kyuhyun _does_ scream, his cock spilling again from the thought alone.

 

 

 

–

 

**5\. one hell of an impulse**

  
When Kyuhyun doesn’t talk to him for days, Siwon knows better than to try and remedy _anything._  
  
He doesn’t allow himself to wonder why. That would be adding insult to injury, even in the girdle of his own mind. For a man to relinquish that much control to another man is humiliating to say the least—and Kyuhyun came _twice_ , the second time with fragments of Siwon’s name on his lips.  
  
Something like that is bound to mess with anyone’s head a little.  
  
So he wears grimness at the fore to mask his acceptance, next to its uglier cousin, those little scraps of relief buried so deep among the wreck of his soul like cowardice. Because Kyuhyun isn’t the only one who has lost a part of himself to that splinter of a moment, and for all its convoluted debates and possible interpretations, there is no glossing over the fact that Choi Siwon has brought one of his bandmates to orgasm. With his own hand.  
  
Which doesn’t exactly explain how it can happen for the second time, three weeks later. But it does, and Siwon decides to stop dissecting the moment for any why’s or how’s when Kyuhyun reaches into his pants and starts returning the favour. Before he entered the room, before he fell into Kyuhyun’s bed, there was some formless thought of apology beginning to coalesce in his head. It died with one touch, a stillborn if there was one, and the easy surrender would have been shameful if Siwon hadn’t lost count of the number of mornings when he had woken up panting and hard, memories of Kyuhyun’s uninhibited moans crowding the blurred spaces in his head and shredding what tatters remained of his control.  
  
Kyuhyun smirks at him afterwards, having drawn the climax out of Siwon three times, and they are on speaking terms again.  
  
The third time it happens, they are in the shower and Kyuhyun spends agonisingly long minutes kissing him hard against the cold tiled wall before bringing him off with his lips and tongue.  
  
The fourth time, Siwon learns that he can come from the sight of the younger man fucking himself with his fingers alone.  
  
Which brings them to the inevitable fifth, three days later. There are several degrees of revelations, Siwon has learned, from epiphanic to profoundly spiritual to downright trivial—and Kyuhyun has definitely caused him a few during the frantic course of their ‘experiments’. Still, it certainly does something to a man’s sanity to find out that the vocal prowess your dear bandmate has displayed so far, in front of a microphone or between the sheets, are _nothing_ compared to the sounds he makes when you fuck him into the bed.  
  
He stops counting soon after that.

 

 

 

–

 

**6\. one hell of a complex**

  
One of the most maddening aspects about Choi Siwon is how self-conscious he can be when it comes to his looks or his family’s background.  
  
Kyuhyun can easily forgive the latter. As unfair as it might seem to some, wealth does not automatically guarantee success, and in many ways, it’s a liability as much as an advantage. In their sparkling world of stars and starlets, talents and hard work are the cards that matter, next to luck and cunningness. More than anything, a glittering background curls lips and invites snide comments from the sidelines.  
  
The former, however, is another case entirely. There is a reason why the whole world worships beauty to the edge of sanity and beyond. Beauty is the obvious king of spades—not all-conquering, but close enough, powerful enough to hold the swing vote anytime and anywhere. Nothing invites more envy than the accidental conjunction shapes, angles, and curves, forming a purely unplanned perfection. And no artificial creation could ever hold a candle to nature’s hammer and chisel guided by the Muses.  
  
The same law applies to their merry band of thirteen. There is something to be said about being in the same group as Choi Siwon and consequently being confronted by such a fine example of male perfection in daily basis. Kyuhyun won’t be surprised if each and every one of them has developed some degree of inferiority complex as a result. And he knows that he has not been immune himself, the self-declared fourth place or not.  
  
But it’s different now.  
  
“There has never been any doubt,” Kyuhyun hears himself say, his light tone lingering just above playful. “Siwon is the indisputable number one among us.”  
  
The MC who has given him the question laughs (as expected) and adds a well-rehearsed joke, which is a cue for everyone in the studio to start laughing too. Kyuhyun pretends that he doesn’t notice how Siwon’s practiced smile stiffens, its edges now crusted by thin rime of discomfort. But he holds his tongue and keeps the rest of his arsenal hidden, silent, until they are done recording for the show.  
  
“You are, you know?” he murmurs thirty minutes later, standing next to Siwon as they wait around for their car to arrive. “The number one.”  
  
A flash of irritation appears on the handsome face. “Stop talking about it.”  
  
Kyuhyun almost asks ‘why’ but does not. He doesn’t need to. The science of teasing and prodding is nowhere near reduced to verbal means. It’s _everywhere_ —in the slight cant of his hips, in the faint but unmistakable smirk he takes care to wear, in the slow tap-tap of his middle finger on a folded arm. He keeps his mouth sealed and still Siwon feels the sting, his shoulders tense and expression closed.  
  
Everything is really a matter of technique and lots, _lots_ of practice.  
  
And it’s a petty victory, Kyuhyun realises, but in there, in that possibility of choosing between silence and action, is another mark of his superiority. Because now he knows what Siwon looks like three seconds away from climax. He knows the soft, intimate gasp that escapes Siwon’s parted lips when a finger brushes his nipple. He also knows the kind of sounds Siwon makes when the underside of his cock is kissed, then licked from base to tip. And he knows the kind of dark, damning desperation that shines in Siwon’s eyes when he has had enough of Kyuhyun teasing—and then there will be that look, the one that tells Kyuhyun that he is about to be fucked senseless, and _fuck_ if it doesn’t give the word ‘winning’ one hell of a new meaning.  
  
After all, it is the little details which make all the difference in the world.  
  
And it might just be his ego, or his penchant for paradoxes of any kind, but Kyuhyun never feels more powerful than when he is on his back, with his legs spread, watching that perfection of a man crumble little by little with each reckless thrust and wanton gasp, reduced to a mass of _wantwantwant_ and _fuckfuckfuck_ , dark, lustful eyes focused solely on him.  
  
 _ **My** number one,_ Kyuhyun does not say—but only because he chooses not to.

 

 

 

–

 

**7\. one hell of a personality**

  
Fifteen minutes ago, there was a purpose to his visit other than _this._  
  
It was soon lost on finding both of the dorms empty, but for one person. Kyuhyun pulled him inside halfway through his explanation (Siwon had _really_ come looking for Leeteuk, and stopped by at the 11th floor just to make sure that the older man wasn’t there) eyes wicked and lips set into a half smile that could as well spell indifference and lasciviousness at the same time. First it was a kiss, and Siwon remembers making an effort to resist—for about two seconds, as the sharp taste of wine hit his tongue—but it soon died a quick, graceful death when Kyuhyun slipped a deft hand under his shirt.  
  
The rest was a fast losing battle not even worth mentioning, even less remembering. It was almost pathetic, the way he gave in so easily, but Siwon found himself unable to care fourteen-and-a-half minutes ago and he still finds himself unable to care now. They are in the living room, on Hyukjae’s couch (the one he bought three weeks ago), and he is watching Kyuhyun’s face as the younger man fucks himself on his cock.  
  
Siwon cannot remember the last time he saw anything so gorgeous _and_ so obscene.  
  
“You’re such a whore.”  
  
The half-lidded eyes find him, looking at him from behind a thick sweep of fluttering lashes. The slightest imitation of a grin floats over Kyuhyun’s lips as his fingers rake red lines across Siwon’s chest.  
  
“And you’re the pathetic man who likes fucking that whore.”  
  
“I’m not the only one who likes it.”  
  
“No,” Kyuhyun purrs, licking his lips, eyes never leaving the man under him. “You’re not.”  
  
Siwon growls, his grip tightening until his nails dig and etch half-moon marks on the younger man’s hips. This is what Kyuhyun does to him—he makes his blood _burn_. The wicked, barbed personality doesn’t exactly invite much affection in the first place, but it’s something else, something cruel and arrogant, something that manifests in knowing glances and haughty smirks, that makes Siwon take care to bury himself a little deeper and fuck two times harder, just to see Kyuhyun break.  
  
And break he does, so wonderfully, so exquisitely, eyes clenched shut and lips parted in a sharp, strangled moan as he spills across Siwon’s chest, without even the slightest touch. Siwon finds himself following two seconds later, a satisfied, triumphant smirk on his face.  
  
This, here, is their equilibrium, their never-ending shifts of balance, their teetering waltz at the edge of madness.  
  
And so Siwon isn’t surprised when Kyuhyun leans down, mouth hovering above the juncture of his neck, sucking the skin gently—then suddenly _bites_ , the sudden presence of his teeth drawing a gasp out of him. It isn’t hard enough to draw blood, only to burn a tell-tale mark that will definitely raises the eyebrows of his stylist tomorrow and probably make Siwon go mad, just a little, because this is what they do to each other.  
  
It’s certainly enough to make him switch their position, now scowling down at the younger man.  
  
“I’ve told you not to do that again.”  
  
“I’ve decided not to give a damn,” Kyuhyun informs him, tongue caressing the outer lobe of his left ear, and if anyone could hear what a _smirk_ sounded like, then Siwon is sure it would be something like the sound of Kyuhyun’s velvety voice, just then.  
  
The only reason why he doesn’t immediately commence a second round is because his cell phone suddenly screeches.

 

 

 

–

 

**8\. one hell of an excuse**

  
When Leeteuk walks in on them, Kyuhyun is murmuring curses into his pillow as Siwon’s tongue lavishes a wet, thorough attention on one of his hard, sensitive nipples.  
  
The older man freezes on the threshold, betrayal disfiguring the quick spread of shock on his face. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, over the unruly tips of Siwon’s hair, and then he is gone, the door left half ajar—and Kyuhyun has to _force_ himself to break out of his stupor before the damage can spiral into something much uglier.  
  
“Fuck, it’s Teukie- _hyung_ ,” he hisses sharply, tasting the bile that is panic and fear rising at the back of his throat. Siwon stiffens, one hand still splayed across Kyuhyun’s ribs, the other poised over his belt. Muttering curses under his breath, Kyuhyun twists himself free, almost kicking Siwon’s chest in the process. He is already at the door, pulling a T-shirt over his head when Siwon finally gets over his own paralysis. (At least they still have their pants are on, one little fact he is endlessly grateful for.)  
  
Leeteuk is nowhere to be seen. Nearly blind with panic, Kyuhyun rushes toward the front door, his mind a murky flood of excuses and explanations. There is a moment of sharp relief as he catches a sight of the older man just in front of the elevator, as if salvation is once more within his reach. Leeteuk’s eyes widen at the sight of him, and Kyuhyun can see the reproach in them, flecked with stark hints of what can only be angry disappointment—but before he can so much as open his mouth, Kyuhyun finds himself being dragged back into the dorm.  
  
“What the hell were you thinking, coming out looking like that?” Leeteuk demands as soon as the door has been slammed closed behind them. It is only then that Kyuhyun realises he is actually wearing Siwon’s shirt—and inside out too, which definitely would make everything five times worse should anyone have caught a glimpse of him earlier.  
  
But he doesn’t care. Not now. Not while Leeteuk is looking at him like he is the biggest disappointment in his life.  
  
“I’m sorry,” the words tumble out of his mouth, a desperate rush that makes him clench his fists tighter, just to feel the sharp bite of his nails. He needs the distraction, at least to protect himself from the heavy press of guilt bearing down on him, choking him from the inside.  
  
Leeteuk says nothing. He leans against the door, arms folded before his chest, the careless sweep of dark blonde bangs covering one eye. He looks suddenly older. Tired.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question comes at last, so softly spoken it slices through the silence, as cleanly as a knife.  
  
 _Because it’s none of your business,_ Kyuhyun hears it in his head, flounders in its echo, but as always his claws are blunted when it comes to Leeteuk. Instead, he swallows thickly and repeats, “I’m really sorry.”  
  
The lines of Leeteuk’s mouth tighten, shaping themselves into a grimace. Neither of them speaks again for what feels like a very long time. Kyuhyun stares at his bare feet, sinking under the condemnatory gaze, and focuses on just breathing through the stillness. He feels, more than hears, Siwon’s silent approach—how it threads a different note in the air, how it makes the cords of muscles in Leeteuk’s arms tauten, just slightly.  
  
“You know, you’re the last person I’d expect to–” but he stops at that, because Park Jungsoo is a kind man and true kindness doesn’t allow itself to be reduced to the background only because fury is holding the tyrannical cane. No. It wages a rebellion so great and overwhelming that it can only emerge triumphant.  
  
“Fine,” Leeteuk already speaks again before either of them can contrive an explanation. “It doesn’t matter. It isn’t really my business anyway. Just… remember to be careful in the future. And please always, _always_ lock your door.”  
  
Kyuhyun nods stiffly, because there is no other response he can give to something like that (and he might regret it if he opens his mouth, claws blunted or not.) Heaving a deep sigh, Leeteuk untangles his arms and reaches for the door handle, still avoiding their eyes.  
  
“Alright, I’ll leave you two then.”  
  
It’s his verdict, the most he’s willing to give for now. Kyuhyun accepts the heavy silence left in his wake as a part of their punishment. So does Siwon, if the lack of sound from his aft is anything to go by.  
  
It isn’t until one minute later—one full minute in the horrible morass of screaming thoughts later—that Kyuhyun finally gives up and yields to the thickening pressure. He turns around, very slowly, and finds Siwon still standing at the middle of the room, frowning at the floor by his feet.  
  
“He thinks we’re together,” is the first thing that leaves the older man’s mouth.  
  
“Makes no difference to me,” Kyuhyun mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Why? Does it bother you?”  
  
He knows he does not imagine the sudden tension gripping Siwon's posture—or the dangerous current in the air as Siwon's gaze shifts to his direction. Neither can compare, however, to the sheer intensity of those dark eyes as they watch him, pulling him into their deep, bottomless abyss.  
  
“What are we really?”  
  
“Oh, shit, _no_ ,” Kyuhyun hisses, disbelief sharpening his tone. The fact that Siwon even _dares_ to ask that question makes him want to shout and rage at him. “This isn’t about you, alright? Or us, for that matter. We fuck because we want to. And because we need to. Hell, if I could fuck _Starcraft_ and be done with it, I would’ve done it a long time ago. And none of these would’ve happened.”  
  
Siwon stares at him as if he is suddenly a stranger. “Are you saying that anyone will do?” A hint of ice slips into his voice. “As long as it’s a good fuck?”  
  
“Damn it, Siwon,” Kyuhyun snarls as his coiled fist hits the angled wall nearest to him. “Can you please stop making everything so fucking personal? I’m used to you now, alright? And honestly you’re not so bad, except when you’re being a whiny, needy bitch like this.”  
  
“I'm not _so_ bad?” Siwon repeats, sounding like he’s two seconds away from laughing hysterically—or throwing punches of his own.  
  
“Don't pretend like you're any better. You only fuck me because I'm convenient.”  
  
“If that's what 'better' means, then maybe I am.”  
  
Kyuhyun stares, heartbeat stuttering as the words sink in, taking myriads of possible meanings with them. But Siwon pushes past him and leaves, the door slammed in his wake.

 

 

 

–

 

**9\. one hell of a revelation**

  
There are fights, and then there are _their_ fights.  
  
It defies logic, this, the attempt to distinguish one’s arguments from other people’s. It’s ridiculous and nothing short of arrogant, and Siwon always strives to be humble wherever and whenever—except Kyuhyun destroys that rule the way he obliterates every other creed in Siwon’s life, with ease and a smirk.  
  
Still, the fact is, they don’t have normal fights. And they don’t have small fights. Their once-a-week fucks, their stolen gropes and hurried jerk-offs in public bathrooms—those are the small fights. When they _really_ fight, they have huge, brutal, _colossal_ fights, every single restraint broken and every monster within unleashed, through words if not blows.  
  
And yet it began, Siwon swears, as a beneficial arrangement, once upon a time. They needed the release, the tangible sense of companionship, the intimacy. The objective was clear enough: a physical and emotional relief, through mutual satisfaction of both parties. The method was equally clear: sex.  
  
As far as arrangements go, it was practical and glaringly, starkly logical, if solely on that point—because right from the start, he could already number a thousand reasons why attempting something like this was dangerous and, not to mention, _wrong._  
  
But it does the job. He concentrates better. He performs better. He acts better. In fact, everything is better with the exception of one thing: the fights.  
  
And this one, even by their standard, is entirely in a league of its own.  
  
For days, neither of them does anything about it. Siwon follows his schedule with the unfailing obedience of a trained soldier, finding an indisputable excuse in having too many activities crammed into a timetable three sizes too small. He can barely afford enough time to rest, let alone hold a deep, meaningful conversation of a personal and emotional nature with one of his co-workers who is just as busy.  
  
Fighting with Kyuhyun always leaves him more hurt than angry at the end of the day, but this one, somehow, is different. This one cannot be solved with a quick blowjob or a hard, breathless fuck on the carpeted floor of his living room. The bite is sharper, deeper, closer to that secret, vulnerable place he has no intention at all to touch.  
  
After almost a week, Siwon realises that he is scared of it.  
  
This used to be sex, pure and simple. Now he doesn’t know what to call it anymore. Except to ‘fight’ implies the existence of something worth fighting, something precious, even loved—and there, from that point, he cannot allow his thoughts to take one step further, because Cho Kyuhyun is his fellow bandmate and idol and Super Junior is the glass elevator that lifts them up so high into the sky, their deal with the devil, in which they sacrifice every right to be private in return for the right to live among the stars. So no, he simply cannot, should not, _must not_ fall in love with him.  
  
And as usual, Kyuhyun is the one who tears his resolution into shreds.  
  
Siwon knows that he has always been a little bit in love with Kyuhyun’s voice. Most of the times, it’s a voice that soothes and mesmerises, the soft hum that makes his lips curve into a smile and his heart flutter lightly in the cage of his ribs. The same voice, however, can also make him do _things_ —like that night when it cursed him to hell and back because Siwon refused to do anything more than fucking him with _two_ fingers, all for the sake of hearing the younger man beg.  
  
Except Kyuhyun never did and never would. So Siwon lost that battle he had waged himself, and such a defeat would have been utterly humiliating if not for the beautiful, _beautiful_ howl Kyuhyun let out when Siwon finally slid into him.  
  
It was a gift like no other. And certainly neither of them lasted long after that.  
  
So yes, Kyuhyun’s voice has always been special to him. Which is why when they go on stage in Osaka and Kyuhyun decides to take up his teasing again (as if nothing has happened, as if this is just another of their usual fights) by singing a particularly provocative line right to his face, it only takes Siwon the short span between two heartbeats to become absolutely _furious._  
  
Siwon does nothing half-heartedly, including revenge. He thoroughly ignores Kyuhyun until they are done, until they return home, until a new photo shoot on the day after, until practice on the day after that, and the day after, and the day after—until the younger man cannot take it anymore and pushes him against the mirrored wall of their dance studio, right in front of the other members.  
  
“Stop being mad at me,” he hisses into Siwon’s ears, and then is gone, warmth, pressure, presence and all.  
  
Three wasted seconds later, Siwon shakes himself out of shock and runs after Kyuhyun. He catches up with him in the hall outside, pulls him into the nearest room, which proves to be a maintenance room, and in there, amidst grey boxes and colourful conduits branching on the walls, Siwon kisses him senseless and tries to make them _right_ again.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, softly, almost desperately, although he doesn’t really know why. All he can think of is Kyuhyun’s eyes and how they looked at him then, how they still look at him now, scant inches away.  
  
“Bastard,” Kyuhyun retorts, voice vicious, eyes ablaze, and Siwon kisses him again before the tightness in his throat can shatter into something neither of them is ready to face. He doesn’t miss the slight tremor wrecking Kyuhyun’s shoulders, or how Kyuhyun’s fingers cling to the back of his T-shirt, or how his own heart beats madly inside his chest because Kyuhyun, Kyuhyun, _Kyuhyun._  
  
“You’ll have to make it up to me,” the younger man mutters against his lips.  
  
Siwon smiles, pressing their growing hardness together and revelling in the gasp escaping from Kyuhyun’s throat. “I’ll fuck you any way you want. Fuck, I’ll do _anything_ you want. Just tell me.”  
  
Kyuhyun stares at him, eyes at half mast. “Get on your knees,” he says, _commands_ , “and suck me.”  
  
Siwon readily obeys. Because he has been thinking about love in that abstract, mindless way for days, and now it’s here, brought into sharp pinpoint focus by that look in Kyuhyun’s face—and it scares him out of his mind. This, a blowjob, is at least familiar ground for them, and so he focuses on Kyuhyun’s taste in his mouth and immerses himself in how in love he is with the breathy sounds that sensual voice makes, as if being in love with one specific feature, focusing on only a particular part, will shield him from being in love with the person as a whole  
  
He knows it won’t, but sometimes Siwon just likes hitting walls for the sake of it.

 

 

 

–

 

**10\. one hell of a risk**

  
“Do you want to go somewhere?”  
  
Kyuhyun only hums at first, distracted by the lips kissing a patch of exposed skin on his neck. He is vaguely aware of Shindong and Sungmin’s presence in the living room, but the feel of Siwon’s hand on his hip and a puff of warm breath across his nape are all too familiar by now that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash, let alone try to move away.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, upon the first touch of those soft, warm lips, a thread of thought sparks and writhes to life somewhere in the labyrinthine depth of his memory vault. But it’s too small, too ambiguous, and it quickly wilts back to obscurity since neither he nor Siwon has ever spoken of that moment which might or might not have happened three weeks ago, in a room with grey boxes and too many wires.  
  
Rinsing the last of the plates, Kyuhyun finally asks, “Where?”  
  
“I don’t know, some place with good desserts maybe?” Siwon murmurs, nuzzling even deeper into his neck. (There is a _tongue_ involved now, Kyuhyun swears.) “Or we can go dancing.”  
  
“Yeah, because that will be a very good idea,” muttering sarcastically, he turns around in the circle of Siwon’s arms and looks at the older man in the eye. The kitchen is large enough and they are standing too close, but the words ‘too close’ have long since lost all their treacherous meanings when it comes to them, considering everything in the last twelve months. Kyuhyun can’t say for sure when boundaries have begun to blur, or when physical comfort has distorted itself into something more. The stage has always been a fair game—kisses on the cheek, lips hovering too close to an ear, an arm draped across a willing pair of shoulders, all for the sake of driving fans crazy—but then things start to bleed into real life and here they are, with bodies pressed close together in a place where there is no audience to entertain.  
  
And they never talk about it.  
  
“We can ask the others to join us,” Siwon suggests after a short spell of silence.  
  
“Because obviously ten people run much less risk of discovery?”  
  
“Stop with the sarcasm for a second and listen.” There, a hint of impatience, except more playful now, because Siwon is as familiar with this game as he is. “Last week, Kangta- _hyung_ told me about this new club not far from the office. They have an interesting policy every Friday night: everyone in there has to wear a mask to cover the upper part of their face. He already went there a few times and guess what? Nothing bad ever happened.”  
  
Kyuhyun leans back against the sink, the idea singing a siren’s song in his ears. “A few times?” he says at last.  
  
“And nothing bad ever happened,” the other man reiterates, arms tightening around his waist.  
  
“A club means dancing, right?”  
  
“Dancing,” Siwon whispers in his ear, hips swaying slowly in an imitation of one, “and many other things.”  
  
Kyuhyun can feel the responding smirk on his lips. “Let’s not bring Hyukjae then. He’d totally give us away.”  
  
“Excellent,” Siwon grins and kisses him lightly on the lips. Maybe they are both crazy—they seem to have that effect on each other. Kyuhyun, however, soon discovers that he cannot care less, not with the music loud in his ears and the world lost in a burst of spinning colours and swaying bodies. The mask is a flimsy insurance, so easily ripped off from his face, but when he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring into Siwon’s dark, mask-framed ones, and he has no choice but to fall into that fragile promise, basking in the blanket of anonymity it offers, however thin or false.  
  
This is reckless, mad, stupid, everything they should avoid; but then Siwon grabs the back of his head and kisses him for real, in public, in the middle of a crowd whose eyes can easily destroy them if they only _knew_ —and he has to grin and laugh and gasp, delighted, almost delirious in the embrace of such danger.  
  
Kyuhyun knows he will never be able to get enough of that feeling.

 

 

 

–

 

 

_and three more reasons why they are still not perfect for each other (but they’re going to try anyway because love is a bitch like that)_

**11\. one hell of a crime**

  
Their first success leads to many similar escapades.  
  
Siwon cannot exactly explain why. Maybe it’s the thrill, or the nerve-racking feeling when danger glides past too closely he can practically feel the skim of its breath against every gaping pore of his skin. He doesn’t revel in it the way Kyuhyun does, but there is something in the action itself, in playing this close to the edge and risking just about _everything_ , that makes his toes curl and blood hum. It’s a mockery to everything he stands for, spits in the face of everything right and proper—and he, ironically enough, is addicted to it.  
  
He used to be the good one, Siwon reflects wryly. In a time not too long ago. Still, it's very difficult to feel properly penitent when he is trapped like this, with the heat of Kyuhyun’s tongue in his mouth and Kyuhyun's hand sliding to the front of his jeans.  
  
“You want this, don’t you?”  
  
Siwon only growls and pulls the younger man even closer, pushing their hips together and drinking the gasps spilling from those delightfully swollen lips. The fact that they are still in his car, in the basement of his apartment, doesn’t escape him, but the place is quiet and his windows are heavily tinted anyway—not to mention that Kyuhyun can be very persuasive when he has his mind set to something.  
  
And so Siwon finds himself pinned against the driver’s seat, with Kyuhyun spread over his lap and their clothed erections rubbing against each other. It feels like drowning—in the best sense, in the most maddening way possible—and the comparison would make him cringe if not for the fact that he is drowning too fast and too deep. Every time a car drives past, a smirk will grace Kyuhyun’s lips, and that wicked curve, that total disregard for every scrap of their hard-earned reputation, is enough to make Siwon move his hips faster and dig his fingers deeper into the firm ass offered so generously to his touch.  
  
“You’re absolutely crazy,” he declares, voice hoarse with heat and lust.  
  
Kyuhyun just laughs, the sound low and rich in his throat, and shoves his tongue deeper into Siwon’s mouth. Then they’re back to the same rhythm, Kyuhyun teasing with slow, languid rolls of his hips and Siwon pulling him closer and closer as if he’s trying his best to fuck him with their clothes on.  
  
“I want you,” Siwon breathes out, one hand squeezing the back of Kyuhyun’s right thigh.  
  
“Well,” the younger man’s grin is sharp from this angle, caught in this slant of light, “I’ve always wanted to try doing it in a car at least once. Haven’t you?”  
  
Siwon stares, caught between dazzled and incredibly turned on. One second later, his cell phone rings.  
  
They both groan. Kyuhyun begins kissing him again, furiously, as if determined to ignore the shrill interruption, but one glance at the lit-up display is all it takes for Siwon to stop short.  
  
“Wait,” he mutters, trying his best to detach their mouths from each other’s, “it’s my mother.”  
  
Kyuhyun shoots him a look of pure annoyance before moving his lips down to Siwon’s neck. Siwon hurriedly answers the call, but is forced to suffer through the first thirty seconds of the conversation trying not to gasp or moan at every wet, languid stroke of Kyuhyun’s tongue on his skin.  
  
 _“…you really don’t sound well.”_  
  
Siwon has to swallow a laugh—or a guilty whimper, he doesn’t know which. At the moment, the only part of him which isn’t well is the one dying to bury itself in Kyuhyun’s tight, glorious heat.  
  
“I’m alright,” he finally answers in a (somewhat) less breathy voice. God only knows how he manages it.  
  
 _“You always say that,”_ his mother accuses. _“How many hours did you sleep last night?”_  
  
Answering ‘three’ will probably earn him a lengthy lecture which he really cannot afford right now, so Siwon only murmurs, “Enough.”  
  
 _“Which means something around three, I suppose,”_ she sighs, and he cannot help but bite down a smile. Owing to his busy schedules, they don’t meet that often anymore, but she’s still and always will be his mother. _“Anyway, I’m calling to tell you that I dropped by at your apartment earlier.”_  
  
Siwon swears his heart almost stop beating. “You did?” he asks her warily, silently thanking every patron saint above who still pities his corrupt soul and doesn’t let them meet by chance, especially in _this_ condition. “What for?”  
  
 _“You sounded like you were coming down with a cold when you called me two days ago, so I cooked you some ginseng soup. It’s in your fridge, in a blue container. It can keep for three or four days but don’t forget to eat it, alright?”_  
  
Siwon feels the vicious sting of guilt as his mother ends her explanation, and it’s more horrible than anything else he has ever felt in the last few years. He doesn’t remember the rest of their conversation, but he remembers pushing Kyuhyun off his lap and the small, offended sound the younger man makes as he moves away to the passenger’s seat. He remains there, sitting with his arms crossed and glaring at an indeterminate spot outside the window, until Siwon finishes the call.  
  
“I think we should stop doing this,” is the first thing that comes out of Siwon’s mouth, after a long stretch of silence. His mother’s voice still echoes in his head and surely, _surely_ she deserves better than this. Than so disappointing a son.  
  
“What?” Kyuhyun looks at him in disbelief.  
  
Siwon steels himself and speaks again, “This. Us. You know it isn’t right.”  
  
“Isn’t ‘right’?” There is an edge now in Kyuhyun’s voice, jagged and ready to cut. “You’re talking about being _right_?”  
  
He opens his mouth to formulate another reply, but there is nothing but wordless dumbness on his tongue. Instead, he watches a storm brew in Kyuhyun’s eyes, and has just begun to regret every word he said when the younger man says curtly, “Fine.”  
  
Kyuhyun is out of the car in less than two seconds. Siwon stops breathing for a moment, numb, empty, before a sudden panic seizes him. The thought that Kyuhyun is leaving him is so terrifying that everything else seems minor in comparison. His hands quickly move to open the door at his side, and his feet already land on hard concrete, breaking into a run, before his mind can even make a conscious decision.  
  
“Kyuhyun!” He grabs the other man’s arm, nearly stumbling when Kyuhyun whirls around, furious eyes nailing him where he stands.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I didn’t mean that, I was just–”  
  
“You’re _ashamed_ of me,” Kyuhyun spits. The accusation rings loudly in Siwon’s ears, in the dearth of any other sound, and it’s just so, _so_ unfair that he nearly breaks the bone in his grip.  
  
“No, damn it,” he snarls, impatience fast turning into anger. “Don’t jump into conclusions like that!”  
  
“Like what?” the younger man snaps back at him. “Face it, Siwon. You’re a hypocrite. You like fucking me behind doors, where no one can see or know what we do. But when it really comes down to it, no, you don’t want others to know. At all.”  
  
Siwon stares, open-mouthed, as the words sink in and leave him reeling. Whatever he has expected, it isn’t this. Not even close.  
  
“What are you talking about?” His voice is shaking slightly, but Siwon honestly cannot give a damn about how he _sounds_. Not when he doesn’t even know where they stand anymore. “Are we… are we in a relationship?”  
  
Kyuhyun’s eyes widen and the expression that flits across his face is not even panic or alarm. It's sheer, unadulterated _fear_ , the kind that brings Siwon’s entire world to a halt and closes a cold hand around his heart. “We’re not. What the hell are you–”  
  
“Are _we_?” Siwon cuts him off, grip tightening to the point of pain.  
  
“Don’t change the subject!” Kyuhyun shouts, wrenching his arm away. “Don't you fucking dare! You’re the one who’s ashamed of me! That was your mother, wasn’t it? Of course you’d be ashamed–”  
  
“I’m not!” Siwon shouts back, something inside him snapping in two. “You don’t know anything! Kyuhyun, you’re precious to me, you–”  
  
Kyuhyun gives him no chance to continue. He pushes him flat against a nearby pillar and kisses his mouth so hard Siwon can only moan at him. The sudden force of it renders him helpless, motionless, and he has barely recovered his bearings when Kyuhyun suddenly drops to his knees, the working of his hands swift and ruthless.  
  
Then there is the heat of his mouth on Siwon’s cock, just as ruthless, and Siwon knows that he has just been defeated, so completely and utterly.  
  
It doesn’t take him a long time to come. The pressure from earlier returns with a vengeance, bursting instead of blooming, and with his being exposed so fully, the screech of danger in his head and the beat of urgency in his ears, Siwon simply doesn’t stand a chance. He grabs a fistful of Kyuhyun’s hair and fucks that willing mouth, twice, thrice, before coming with a gasp that explodes into an obscenely loud sound in the echoing vault.  
  
Siwon thinks it’s the end of them, of their secrets and secrecy—and for a moment feels strangely relieved.  
  
And yet no one comes. No footstep interferes with their silence. Siwon stares, breathless, mist still clouding his eyes, as Kyuhyun rises to his feet, lips wet and eyes shining with something that doesn’t translate in the familiar spectrum of their so-called arrangement. The smirk has returned, thin as it is, and the sweep of his long, graceful finger on the lapels of Siwon’s jacket is no less than a mockery.  
  
“Now you can say thank you to her in person, take her out to dinner, and do your duty as a good son,” Kyuhyun says, his beautiful voice wrecked and reduced into something purely, wickedly sexual.  
  
Siwon lets the idea float in his head for about three seconds—because it’s such a pretty, faultless image of filial devotion and he longs for it in the way a stranded man longs for a place he calls home, where everything is safe and pleasant.  
  
But he has fallen too deep, relinquished too much, and so he ends up dragging Kyuhyun upstairs and fucking him into the mattress. Then, as if the sticky, smeared proof of their pleasure isn’t spite enough, they share his mother’s soup between them and he licks any errant drop that escapes the corner of Kyuhyun’s sinfully smirking lips.  
  
After all, love is just one more way a man can sell his soul.  
  
  
 **.**  
  
  
The thing about smart people is that their intelligence doesn’t actually stop them from doing stupid things.  
  
Kyuhyun knows this law, with its twisting path strewn with pebbles of irony. He is, after all, one of the living examples.  
  
“They will hate us,” he repeats to himself in the grim silence of his bedroom, as midnight unfolds across the sky and shadows crawl on the walls. “The world will hate us if they find out.”  
  
He doesn’t need Leeteuk or the managers to tell him why. Every successful idol knows the cost of their downfall. There is a reason why they cling to their fame so, inconstant and transient as it is—and yet, _and yet_ he allows himself to fall, to risk falling, for a dimpled smile, for a deep-voiced whisper of good night, for kisses that taste like stale coffee, for the stupid way all those shared little moments make him _feel._  
  
There is stupidity, the innate kind, and then there is _stupidity_ , freely chosen and therefore willingly claimed, like a hand closing over a fiery brad. For Kyuhyun, it has always been a matter of choice. Perhaps he just likes the way Siwon holds on to him when they fuck—or perhaps he is in love with that intensity, not the man himself. Perhaps he is just so fucking lonely that he’d let just about anyone into his heart, and Siwon is simply the lucky one, slipping in so quickly, so easily that Kyuhyun doesn’t even realise until it’s too late. When he does, he looks inside and there is Siwon, limbs, hair, fingers entangling with every beating vein of Kyuhyun’s heart.  
  
And there is no way to remove him, except by plucking every single threaded vine, killing himself a little with each painful, bleeding attempt.  
  
“You’re such an idiot,” he tells himself, and still it doesn’t stop him from fumbling for his iPhone when it chimes, signalling the arrival of a message. Even the name on the display alone is enough to make his heartbeat stutters and fingers falter.  
  
 _I want to see you. Can I come over?_  
  
Kyuhyun stares at the two lines for a long time. The logic is simple enough. Sungmin is spending the weekend at his parents’ house, and so the most sensible thing to do is to escape, as soon as possible, because with how things stand at the moment, to avoid further complications is clearly the best course of action. Maybe he can go to Changmin’s and spend the night there getting themselves drunk. They never fuck, not in that way, but the door isn’t exactly closed on that side of their friendship, and the heat in Changmin’s gaze can probably become something more if they only allow it. (Loneliness is such a terrible thing to bear, even more so when weighted down by constant demand of perfection, on and off camera.)  
  
But he does not. He stays in his bed, staring at an empty stretch of grey-tinted wall and listening to Sung Si Kyung whispering countless agonies of being in love in his ears. He doesn’t turn around when the knock comes to his door, when footsteps venture in, when a long sigh echoes in the quietness. Then his bed dips, accommodating Siwon’s weight, but Kyuhyun is a stubborn little bastard—or maybe just a coward—so he doesn’t move, not even when he feels a hesitant touch on his elbow, a whisper of a kiss on the slope of his shoulder, a loving caress on the length of his arm before Siwon’s hand settles atop his, curled gently above his stomach.  
  
There is a moment of breathless pause, both waiting, listening. And then Kyuhyun feels his own hand shift, just slightly, but it’s enough—oh yes, it’s _enough_ , another voluntary dive into stupidity—and he tries not to think of equally stupid things like how warm and happy this makes him feel or how his fingers fit the spaces between Siwon’s perfectly.  
  
He feels the curve of a faint smile, pressed against the space between his shoulder blades, and suddenly wants to cry.

 

 

 

–

 

**12\. one hell of a confession**

  
“So what are you two, really?”  
  
 _Beats me,_ Siwon wants to tell him, but the manager-hyung is wearing a look which says that it has been a long, tiring day for them both and Siwon better not tries his patience with glib answers, especially with him driving just under the speed limit. So he reconsiders his answer, chooses his words carefully, and constructs long-winded sentences which basically have no other meaning than _beats me._  
  
The look he gets in return plainly says that the older man isn’t the least impressed by his monumental effort.  
  
“Yeah, whatever. Just be ready at six tomorrow morning.”  
  
Siwon nods, relieved to be off the hook, and quickly descends from the car. He unlocks the door to his apartment only to find a pair of shoes which aren’t his carelessly strewn on the floor and the room brightly lit. Kyuhyun is lounging in the couch, reading his new musical’s script, and this sight, this experience is so _unfamiliar_ that Siwon literally stops in his track.  
  
“Hi.” Kyuhyun looks up, greeting him with a smile—and despite the near-unpleasant bite of surprise, a sudden surge of warmth bursts in his chest and Siwon feels so ridiculously, inordinately happy that he can only smile helplessly back.  
  
“Hi,” he returns, a bit awkwardly perhaps, but to be perfectly honest he has a total of _zero_ experience in this, and at least he doesn’t try to kiss the top of Kyuhyun’s head or anything like that. Which is a good thing, because they sure as hell aren’t going to have that discussion on his last night before going to Taipei.  
  
They share three orders of take-outs between them and he spends half of the meal being mesmerised by the young man sitting in front of him, across his dining table. Somewhere between fried noodles, chicken with lemon sauce, and a dish of steamed tofu, Kyuhyun clears his throat and mutters something about having a fight with Sungmin, and Siwon has to pause at that, because he has never heard an excuse which sounded more like an _excuse_ and it makes him want to laugh and frown at the same time.  
  
“You don’t have to explain, you know,” he hears himself say—feels a smile settling stiffly across his face.  
  
“Yes, I do,” Kyuhyun replies, guarded eyes catching his, and then looks away quickly as if a moment too long would have been a betrayal. Betrayal to _what_ is unclear, but Siwon thinks he can hear the sound of his heart breaking—just a little more, because it has been breaking for a long time, and even now, after _everything_ , Kyuhyun still dances in and out of his arms like a butterfly that causes a hurricane at the other side of the world (or in this case, Siwon’s heart.)  
  
Maybe he should feel angry, or disappointed, but he is tired of feeling both. His world still spins to the same old tune, the ache too familiar now to become anything else but a background noise. He doesn’t resist when Kyuhyun pulls him into bed right after shower. This is what they are familiar with, the tumble between soft sheets, the path that binds their lips together again, for the thousandth time.  
  
“When's your flight?” Kyuhyun asks, breathless between kisses.  
  
“At nine. We have time enough.”  
  
Then he smiles, a slow, languid smile that makes Siwon’s heart clench painfully because he cannot think of anything other than being in love with that smile. And it makes him wonder if this beautiful young man lying under him has ever cared. At all.  
  
“Close your eyes.”  
  
Kyuhyun’s eyebrows knit. “What?”  
  
“Close your eyes,” Siwon repeats, his voice thinner, desperately clinging to every thread of courage left in his cowering heart. He can see the wariness in Kyuhyun’s gaze, the cloud of suspicion that casts a gloom over his many expectations for the night, and feels the thick heaviness of refusal weighs down his bowed shoulders.  
  
But then Kyuhyun licks his parted lips, a quiet sigh escaping from the small gap, and closes his eyes. Siwon stares at him, at this unexpected picture of submission, at the fine angles of Kyuhyun’s defined eyebrows and his beautifully shaped mouth. He suddenly wishes that he can burn this image behind his eyelids, for who knows what will happen— _after._  
  
Then Siwon kisses him, gently, carefully, as if this is their first kiss. Eyes still shut, the younger man frowns and tries to deepen the kiss, but Siwon will not allow it. This will not be like one of those thwarted chances, when he is trying to catch the words that flit and flicker just out of his tongue’s reach, only to find long fingers covering his mouth, killing his unborn confession. This time, it will be different.  
  
“Trust me,” he says, murmurs, the plea no more than a whisper.  
  
Kyuhyun doesn’t answer, but he inhales deeply and the stiff grip of his fingers on Siwon’s upper arm loosens slightly. Siwon would have smiled, light-headed with relief, if he had any care left to smile.  
  
This is a different tune, a different dance. Kyuhyun must have realised it too, even if he says nothing. He is quiet tonight, barely a gasp when Siwon strokes his sides, caresses his hips, kisses his ear. He doesn’t beg, doesn’t plead, doesn’t even _look_ at him when he parts his legs and suffers the intrusion of one, two, three fingers, and finally the full girth of his lover. Only a small, breathless sound makes it past his lips, trembling in the air between them like an unspoken promise, and Siwon wishes—oh _how_ he wishes—that he has the means to hear it.  
  
Sex with Kyuhyun always feels like drowning—just a different kind each time. This one doesn’t make him fight back and struggle in a searing, blinding desire to win. It laps gently around him in quiet, tiny waves, the heat building little by little, slowly pulling him under, and when he realises that he’s drowning, it’s because of a gasp that sounds like his name, falling from Kyuhyun’s lips. It’s because of the fingers that cling to his back and speak words Kyuhyun’s mouth never will. And it’s because Kyuhyun denies him so, so many things, and yet he lets Siwon do this to him, this one act of complete trust and surrender—and it’s just _so_ wrong, so unbearably ironic and beautifully fucked-up that Siwon closes his eyes and feels the press of tears against his eyelids.  
  
 _Please let me love you,_ he wants to say.  
  
The words never quite reach the flat plane of his tongue, let alone the tip. They die unsaid, falling back past his throat into the depth of his bowels. And in their place, he mouths countless silent _I love you’s_ against the crook of Kyuhyun’s neck, as if he’ll be able to sear those three words into Kyuhyun’s skin if he says them enough and the world will see, there, the incontestable proof of his love.  
  
The words are never there and will never be there, but Siwon repeats them anyway, until he comes and his silent whispers break into a sob and countless little heartaches.  
  
  
 **.**  
  
  
Kyuhyun hates it when he wakes up too early.  
  
For one, it’s just _too early._ He doesn’t function well when sleep still curls possessively around his brain and the world is a blanket of misty blueness that blurs all shapes and robs all colours. The unexpected time he finds in his hand feels like useless, blunt-edged pebbles he’ll only throw against the wall of his room (or in this case, Siwon’s room) for lack of anything else to do. He doesn’t want to think, because thoughts of last night are swirling in his head thickly, unpleasantly, pulling him deeper into the dangerous quagmire he has been trying his hardest to ignore.  
  
With a sigh, Kyuhyun reaches for his laptop and starts a game of _Starcraft_. Somewhere between waiting for the game to load and deciding which mission to tackle, he tries to remember why his laptop is here in the first place (like why his toothbrush is, and some of his clothes, and his favourite brand of instant _ramyun_ ) and fails to come up with a decent explanation—at which point he decides to ignore it, something he is getting really good at.  
  
Ten minutes into the game, he can feel Siwon’s eyes on him, watching him. Kyuhyun cannot exactly tell how he can _tell_ , but it's one of the unfortunate side-effects of knowing someone too intimately, like noticing whether they immediately clean themselves or not after sex (Siwon does), or how their breathing should've sounded when they're fast sleep etc. But he doesn't turn and the older man says nothing, not even in an attempt to disrupt Kyuhyun’s concentration (which he usually does whenever he finds Kyuhyun playing _Starcraft_ , especially in their bed—and how the fuck is it that he calls Siwon's bed _theirs_ , even inside his head?)  
  
Siwon is the first to break their stalemate. After a few minutes of silence, he rises from the bed and heads toward the bathroom, still not saying a word.  
  
It takes Kyuhyun another sixty seconds to realise that he has been staring emptily at his screen, his army long since decimated and the game over. Frowning, he closes the application, leaves the bedroom with his laptop held close to his chest, and hides himself in the kitchen.  
  
To give Siwon some space, of course, but mostly to hide.  
  
The funny thing is, they aren’t even fighting. There's just this endless, barren field of silence, strange and alien to him in every way that he is left standing in the silent kitchen at half past five in the morning, feeling a little lost. But Kyuhyun still doesn't want to put a name on what happened last night, so he decides to make some coffee—and then hates himself a little when he realises that he knows where everything is and this isn't even _his_ apartment for God's sake.  
  
When Siwon walks into the kitchen, already dressed for the day, Kyuhyun removes himself from the premises. He deliberately doesn’t offer him any coffee, doesn’t even look up when he walks past, toward the living room. He sits on the couch, starts another game, and pretends that he doesn’t see and doesn’t hear anything.  
  
It’s as if everything about him has been reduced to doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t. Negative. Inverted. When he makes an effort, then it’s an effort not to do things instead of the other way around, and it makes his fingers twitch, but he persists anyway, mostly because he knows that he is beginning to care— _care_ so much that he’s desperate to show he doesn’t. Care.  
  
Siwon’s reply is a mirror. The silence continues to spread, bearing down on them, and Kyuhyun wonders if this, they, theirs, will end today, this relationship that limps on one foot, each waiting for the other to end it first.  
  
“Kyu.” When Siwon finally speaks, it’s so sudden that Kyuhyun’s fingers almost slip and attack an allied unit by mistake. He whips his head up, caught between hopeful and afraid, and finds Siwon already at the door, wearing a smile the way other people wear their goodbyes. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave, okay?”  
  
And then he's gone, a wave, a shadow, and a click.  
  
It’s the last one, the sound of the door closing that makes Kyuhyun start. Because it’s the sound of someone leaving. Because it slaps him in the face, and because he did hear Siwon say those three little words last night, and he does have the key to Siwon's apartment, and he does have his things _here_ , littered all over the place, and he doesn’t know in how many more languages Siwon must scream his heart out before stupid little Kyuhyun will admit anything between them at all.  
  
Kyuhyun isn’t one for impulses—that has always been Siwon’s turf, to forever be the child of mercurial caprices—but this one seizes him like a gale. Like fear. He stumbles out of the couch and runs toward the front door, still in his boxers and yesterday’s T-shirt. It’s a long, open hall with many doors, and there is a good chance that someone will see them, will give witness to this exceedingly reckless and monumentally stupid thing he is about to do, but Kyuhyun soon discovers that he doesn’t care.  
  
Because Siwon turns around at the sound of his name, and so Kyuhyun does not pause, does not _allow_ himself pause, before he can catch up with him and take this man who now owns his heart into his arms and make sure that he hasn’t just missed his chance forever.  
  
Siwon tenses and his suitcase falls to the floor with a heavy thud. “Kyuhyun, what–”  
  
And that is when Kyuhyun kisses him, because something inside him breaks at that moment, because their relationship is absurd and wrong on so many levels and Kyuhyun feels like he wants to cry because he actually loves this man, which makes this absurd thing between them all sorts of painful yet, somehow, also right. It may be the most agonising kind of right, but damn it all to hell, Kyuhyun is in love and he’s taking this chance.  
  
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he murmurs, pleads, almost begs, between shaky breaths and shakier kisses. “I'm really, really sorry.”  
  
Siwon’s arms come around him in an embrace that feels too familiar to be anything else but _right._ “Is something wrong?” Siwon asks, worry and confusion crowding his voice. “Please talk to me, Kyu, I don’t under–.”  
  
“I love you,” Kyuhyun blurts out, cheeks heating up at every word that tumbles out of his mouth. It’s out there now and he cannot unsay them, which makes him feel strangely relieved yet terrified at the same time—but he knows he has to say them. Not because he owes it to this man, but because it’s absolutely, unquestionably, wholeheartedly _true._  
  
There is a moment of incomprehension, and then, “Oh.”  
  
Kyuhyun waits—he really does—but Siwon still fails to react, and after what feels like an unbearable stretch of eternity, panic takes over.  
  
“You know what? It’s stupid. Let’s just forget it and… um, bye.” He whirls around, feet already moving, already running away because this is what he does best, even with his heart feeling like it has been smashed by a hammer into countless tiny, whimpering pieces. In fact, he is so good at running away that Kyuhyun barely knows what he is doing until he’s halfway down the hall, back to their apartment. (And there goes the ‘their’ again.)  
  
So Siwon stops him the only way he knows how: by utilising his longer legs to eliminate the distance and then holding him captive in his arms.  
  
“Don’t you dare _run_ ,” he growls, arms now securely fastened around Kyuhyun’s rigid body. “Not after saying that to my face.”  
  
“You’re going to be late,” Kyuhyun politely informs him as soon as he has rediscovered the mechanism of speech.  
  
“You’re not running away.”  
  
“But manager- _hyung_ is waiting for you downstairs.”  
  
“He can wait.”  
  
“No, he really can’t. Your flight is at nine.”  
  
There is a sound like half a sob and half a laugh coming from the older man, breathed against his nape. “Why are we so bad at this?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Except he does, and the knowledge writhes restlessly in his throat, demanding for a voice. Kyuhyun closes his eyes and complies. “Maybe because it matters, and something that matters _hurts_.”  
  
“It doesn't have to hurt,” Siwon argues. “Not always.”  
  
“Yes, it does,” Kyuhyun shoots back, falling into a pattern. Their pattern. “Especially for people like us. We weren’t supposed to end up like this.”  
  
Siwon is silent for a moment, and then suddenly pulls him even closer until Kyuhyun can feel the other man’s rapid heartbeat against his back. “I’m scared too,” Siwon murmurs oh-so-gently in his ear, like he’s imparting his most precious secret. “And I know that a relationship between us is stupid, and dangerous, and crazy. But this, whatever this is, also makes me happy. _You_ make me happy.”  
  
“Why?” the word quivers against Kyuhyun’s lips, cloaked in the flimsiest whisper.  
  
“I don’t know.” There’s a self-deprecating laugh, and the sound is so, _so_ painful that it tugs at every string in Kyuhyun’s heart. “I’ve never been in love. Not like this.”  
  
And that, there, is the only thing that matters, the beginning and end of their journey. Kyuhyun bites his lips, smiling as warmth spreads from the deepest core of his heart, pricking his eyes and making him tremble with relief.  
  
He turns around, slowly, to prepare them both for the question. Then he asks it.  
  
“Do you love me?”  
  
Siwon looks at him right in the eye and says, “Yes,” with the kind of conviction which makes Kyuhyun wonder how in the name of everything holy he managed _not_ to see it all this time.  
  
“Okay.” He straightens up, hands falling to his sides. “And you already know that I love you too. But do you realise how often we fight? Hell, we fuck like we’re fighting, Siwon. Sometimes like we’re trying to kill each other. It hurts to fight with you, but that’s what I– that’s what we do anyway, no matter what, when, where, or why—because that’s just what _we_ do. You drive me crazy and I drive you crazy. Right from the beginning it has always been like that and I don’t see–”  
  
“Kyuhyun,” Siwon interrupts him, a painful expression in his face, “I’m going to kiss you now, so please shut up.”  
  
Then Siwon grabs the back of his neck and kisses him, and Kyuhyun does shut up. Happily.

 

 

 

–

 

**13\. one hell of a relationship**

  
“Are we going to be weird?”  
  
It isn’t one of the nicest—or in that case, smoothest—way of beginning a serious conversation over the phone, but Siwon had been sitting in the same chair and tapping his fingers on the same desk for close to half an hour before he finally mustered enough courage to make the call. In his opinion, he is entitled to be less than perfectly suave.  
  
 _“What?”_  
  
The rasp of Kyuhyun’s breathing sends a sharp, delicious shiver through his system. Siwon almost scowls, painfully reminded to the fact that he is alone in his too-cold hotel room and it has been five days since the confession. Which means that it has been five days since he last saw Kyuhyun.  
  
“Why are you breathing like that? Where _are_ you?  
  
 _“At the gym,”_ Kyuhyun answers, silky wisps of amusement threading his voice. _“Where do you think I am?”_  
  
In bed, thinking about me, Siwon almost says. Luckily, he manages to get a hold of his tongue just on time. “Something less... not you,” he says instead. “I mean, the _gym_? Really?”  
  
 _“Well, you're not here to help with my usual exerci–”_  
  
“Okay, let’s pretend that I didn’t ask.”  
  
 _“You started it,”_ Kyuhyun points out, snickering, and Siwon has to bite his lips because a quiet ache blooms inside his chest at the sound. Missing a person isn’t a constant state, as he has discovered; it comes in bursts, like a sudden punch to his chest, like _now_ , and Siwon has to physically restrain himself from packing his bags and going back to Seoul at once.  
  
Sometimes it isn’t even about the presence, or the place, or the distance. For him, being in love means much, much more than that. It’s the luxury of waking up and finding the person he loves in the other side of his bed. It’s the option of pulling a sleeping Kyuhyun into his embrace, or resting his chin on Kyuhyun’s shoulder in order to watch him decimate brightly coloured pixels of ambiguous designs in his laptop, either of which leaves him feeling incredibly happy. It’s also the chance of seeing a smile on Kyuhyun’s lips, in a mirror or from the corner of his eyes or across the room, and basking in the simple knowledge that it is for him and only _him._  
  
Maybe he has been in love longer than he suspects.  
  
 _“What were you saying earlier?”_ Kyuhyun’s voice cuts through his musings.  
  
Siwon adjusts the phone on his ear and takes a deep breath. “I was just wondering,” he begins again, more cautiously this time, “we aren't going to be weird, right?”  
  
 _“Because of the… thing?”_  
  
A smile tugs at the corners of Siwon’s lips. “The confession, yes.”  
  
 _“I don’t know,”_ Kyuhyun says after a pause, his tone reserved but honest. _“You should come back first and we’ll see. When are you coming back?”_  
  
“The day after tomorrow.”  
  
A sudden stretch of silence descends upon them, the kind that makes him want to bite his nails or bury them deep in the flesh of his palm. A knot tightens in his chest and Siwon reaches for a paper and a pen available on the desk, resorting to an old habit of doodling. A crescent moon appears. It isn’t smiling although it really should be. Then a star, not far from the moon. Because Kyuhyun is a star. His star.  
  
“Please don’t run away.”  
  
 _“What?”_  
  
“I said,” Siwon swallows, drawing a grassy hill under the moon and star, with a small house as its centrepiece, “don’t run away.”  
  
 _“For the sake of argument, why not?”_  
  
He adds a door and two windows, and then puts the pen down. “Well, I could answer ‘because I’ll just catch you again’, but the truth is I don’t have that confidence at all.” He closes his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Kyuhyun, I’ve said this before. I’ve never been in love like this. And to be perfectly honest, you scare the hell out of me.”  
  
 _“Glad to hear that I’m not the only one.”_  
  
Siwon laughs, the knot loosening a little. “So?”  
  
 _“My answer hasn't changed. You have to come back first and we'll take it from there.”_  
  
“Do you realise that it’s still forty-eight, no, fifty-three hours away from now?”  
  
 _“And?”_  
  
“How do you expect me to live with that kind of suspense for the next fifty-three hours?”  
  
 _“How did you live with that kind of suspense for the last fourteen months?”_  
  
Siwon groans, slumping onto the desk. “So this is how you treat someone you love. I should’ve known.”  
  
 _“Well, I’m different. Unique. One of a kind.”_  
  
“Kyuhyun–”  
  
 _“See? There's an ocean between us and we still have to argue.”_  
  
Siwon cannot help but grin at that. “Fine, you win this time,” he concedes, taking up his pen again. A cloud appears on the paper. “I miss you.”  
  
 _“This is a very costly phone call, you know.”_  
  
“Say that you miss me too.”  
  
 _“And getting costlier by the second.”_  
  
“Why are you so shy over things like this?”  
  
 _“Sure, you make a lot of money, but are you certain you want to spend it like this?”_  
  
“Not that it really matters, because I happen to think that you look very cute when you’re being all shy like that.”  
  
 _“You’re a moron and I hate you very much.”_  
  
Siwon laughs and draws a heart with many little hearts in it. “I love you very much too, Kyu.”  
  
A different kind of silence settles over them. This, Siwon decides as he tries to write Kyuhyun’s name in Chinese, still smiling, is definitely one of his favourite parts of being in love.  
  
 _“A bit of warning in advance,”_ Kyuhyun’s voice comes again through the line. _“Since you’re not coming back until the day after tomorrow, I figure that you’ll have some time to think about it.”_  
  
“About what?”  
  
 _“Us.”_  
  
Siwon stops doodling at once. “I’m listening,” he replies, unable to suppress the rising of slight apprehension.  
  
 _“Seeing how much we fight, it’s very possible that I’m going to drive you crazy in count of weeks.”_  
  
He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe.”  
  
 _“And I’ll probably also make you wish that you’ve never met me.”_  
  
“Kyuhyun, what–”  
  
 _“I’m a very difficult person, but you already know that. And people often say that I’m selfish. And that I always want to win, which actually isn’t very far from the truth. My point is, I’m totally not an ideal person to be in love with, so you may regret your decision very, very soon.”_  
  
“I still–”  
  
 _“You’re an idiot and a masochist—which probably explains why you fell in love with me in the first place. But it doesn’t mean that you will tolerate these less agreeable sides of me for any extensive length of time. I just… well, I just thought I’d give you a heads-up.”_  
  
There is a pause, and then Siwon replies, his voice solemn, “I shall reflect on these points very carefully.”  
  
 _“You’re making fun of me now, aren’t you?”_  
  
“Yes, because they’re ridiculous,” he declares firmly. “In case you haven’t realised, dearest love of mine, we’ve slept with each other for, I don’t know, more than a year now. Don’t you think that if there is a list of people who know best how frustratingly and exceedingly difficult you are, then my name will at least be somewhere at the top?”  
  
Kyuhyun hums. _“That’s a very good point.”_  
  
“And I’m still around, aren’t I?”  
  
 _“That one still remains to be seen.”_  
  
“Kyuhyun, I swear you’re the most infuriating–”  
  
 _“I know, I gave you that exact warning fifteen seconds ago. So I’ll see you in two days?”_  
  
Siwon breaks into a helpless laugh. He’s really in love with a brat. “Yes, in two days. Fifty-three hours to be exact. And we’ll probably have the most uncomfortable talk in our lives then, but for now, let me just say this to make sure that you don’t forget. I love you, I love you, and I love you. There.”  
  
There is another pause. Siwon can easily imagine the pretty blush which doubtlessly has risen to Kyuhyun's face by now, and grins at his own reflection in the mirror.  
  
 _“You’re going to be a very embarrassing boyfriend, aren’t you?”_ Kyuhyun accuses, sounding entirely too matter-of-fact to be truly matter-of-fact.  
  
“Very.”  
  
 _“Okay, I too shall reflect on this point while you're not here. Bye.”_  
  
“Kyu–”  
  
The blank silence tells him that the younger man has hung up. Siwon stares at his phone in disbelief, and then collapses into another wave of laughter. He spends the next three hours alternating between grinning and chuckling to himself, to the distress of every concerned individual around him.  
  
At least, Siwon tells himself, if there must be a reason for his acting like an idiot for the entire day, then that reason might as well be Cho Kyuhyun.  
  
  
 **.**  
  
  
“Why are you smiling?”  
  
Kyuhyun looks up and realises that he has been standing just in front of the entrance to the gym area with his iPhone pressed against his chest and a disturbingly wide smile decorating his face.  
  
Hyukjae is still staring at him, brows raised, hands poised at his hips, so Kyuhyun clears his throat and mumbles, “Nothing.”  
  
But he just cannot stop smiling for the rest of the day.

  
**_End_ **

 


End file.
